


ten: alone

by wordtheef



Series: thirteen ways of looking at a Lannister [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, Daydreaming, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Unrequited Lust, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef





	ten: alone

Imagine this: Jaime wants her.

Imagine that she goes to his room and barely knocks on the door before he pulls her inside and says —

No.

She’s in the bath in her own rooms. The tub is small for her frame and the water goes cold quickly, so she’s scubbing fast, her knees and half her legs sticking out above the waterline. She feels covered in sweat and dirt and grime from sparring practice, she’s been working with ser Jaime to help develop his left hand, and —

Someone pounds on the door.

She stands, wraps herself in a robe and ties it. Unbars the door.

Jaime pushes inside. _I want a bath, _he says. _I was told you had the washing-tub._

Her feet are wet, water is running down her legs, she isn’t even wearing smallclothes — and Jaime is here _looking_ at her. She’s aware of where the robe is damply clinging and where it hangs loose around her form.

She tightens the lapels of the robe, closing them around her neck. _Ser, I can leave._

_Help with this lace, will you? _he says instead. _It’s stuck._

She steps forward.

He puts his hand on her waist, where the thick linen tie is loosely knotted. He meets her gaze and holds in, holding the sash, drawing the knot open. The robe parts — just a sliver of skin, hinting at everything and revealing almost nothing.

Her heartbeat drops down and slows.

_Brienne, _he says. _Help me._

So she unties the knot and goes to push down his trousers —

No.

He comes in and sees her in her robe, water dripping to the floor: and he smiles. _So wet, my lady._

She doesn’t understand — pretends she doesn’t — hopes she doesn’t. Her face goes red._ You want to be alone. I can leave you alone._

_I want you to stay._

He slides a hand up her waist to cup around her breast, and he rubs at the nipple and she gasps; he pushes it off her shoulders now, sliding the neckline open and biting licking sucking over every inch of exposed flesh, running fingers over her back, her arms, sending shivers and jolts down her, through her.

_Brienne_ he says, and his voice is all gravel. He rubs himself against her, hard for her.

She isn’t ugly and unwanted here and he has both hands _why not why not_

He parts the front and reaches up into her private flesh and _Dripping _he says again, seeking inside, saying _You’re so open, _and_ Shh _when she protests. He says, not moving: _I’ll stop if you want._

She does not want him to stop and cannot say _Go on._

_You’re trembling. Sit down before you fall _he says, and when she has sat shaking he kneels in front and slips his hand inside the robe again, inside her, and she’s never been much of a lady but when his mouth nips at her knee she only spreads her thighs apart, an invitation, a request

and he wastes no time, licking around his fingers and adding his own wetness, gazing teeth, making her say his name.

_Louder _he says, the word buzzing her skin. _Say it louder. Say Jaime, yes, please._

_Please, _she gasps (he’s moving faster now, she feels the damp run down)._ Jaime, yes._

_More, wench._

Faster and more, reaching impossibly far, her legs are shaking and her hips reaching for him, asking for more, and he removes his hand slow and he’s looking at her and he reaches for his own trousers, gods he’s hard against them, he pulls out the laces one by one while she waits — languidity is come over her, she’s powerful now and she just waits, _waits_ while he looks at her — his mouth is red and swollen and oh, those eyes

and someone knocks on the door.

_Jaime_.

She splashes out, wraps herself in a robe that only exposes how little of herself there is to be exposed: “Who is it?”

“Podrick, my lady,” says his voice. “Will you be much longer in the bath?”

“No.” The water is cold and she is a fool. She clears her throat. “Ser Jaime may have it whenever he likes.”


End file.
